Page 3 of Her Only Hero

“I’m okay.” I tried to steady my voice, but it quivered. “He ran that way, into the brush. Go!”

Patrick raced down the alley with sprinter’s strides before hurdling the hedge and disappearing from sight.

I touched a tender spot on my forehead. Blood beaded on my scraped palms, and both knees of my pants were ripped. I stood on shaky legs, adjusted my clothes, and looked around. The potential evidence I found was gone. The guy who shoved me had to have snatched it.

Patrick emerged from the alleyway and jogged over. “He’s gone. Did you get a look at him?”

“Yes,” I said.

“How tall would you say he was?”

I pictured him running away, but on my knees, it was hard to judge. “Medium height, I think.”

“And his build?”

“Thin, no wait. He seemed muscular, maybe.” I cringed at how little I remembered. I tried to line up my thoughts. “He wore a long-sleeved black hoodie, though the hood slipped off when he turned to look back.”

“You saw his face?”

“Yes, but he was too far. He had a buzz cut though, blond hair, or maybe it was brown. Oh my God, why can’t I remember?”

“It’s ok. Come on.” He cupped my elbow and guided me to the cruiser. I angled away from his touch.

“That guy,” I said, trying to focus. “I think he stole evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“On the ground, I saw what looked to be a blood-soaked paper towel. He must have knocked me over to grab it.”

He cursed under his breath. “I shouldn’t have answered this call. Please, get in the car.”

“What’s going on?” I said and slid in.

“There’s a dead man inside.”

My body trembled.

Patrick bent down to look at me. “I’m calling this in, and as soon as back-up arrives, I’m taking you to St. Eugene’s Hospital.”

“No,” I said. Troubled memories of when I had worked at that hospital flooded in.

He got in the cruiser. “You could be concussed, June. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Please, don’t make me go back there.” I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath to stave off the irrational racing of my heart and mind.

Chapter Two

“June? Can you hear me?” Patrick’s voice guided me out of my panicked thoughts. “That’s it. Take deep breaths. Good job.”

Strapped in the car’s bucket seat, I had nowhere to hide from my embarrassment, or from Patrick’s intense look of concern. His knitted brows framed his penetrating blue eyes. A warmth swirled in my stomach, and I fought through my speechlessness. “Sorry about freaking out there.” I cringed. “Good thing you’re trained on how to deal with people in all forms of crises.”

“Don’t apologize. After what happened, you’re coping exceptionally well. Are you in pain? How is your head?”

“Still throbbing a bit.”

“Would you be willing to go to a walk-in clinic instead of the hospital? You really should get assessed.” He leaned in closer and checked my pupils. I froze. When he receded, I let out my breath. Patrick clicked a ball-point pen and wrote in a notebook until another squad car pulled in front of ours. “I’ll be right back.” He met with two officers, and as he spoke, he pointed to the dumpster and then toward the alleyway. They walked to the house and disappeared to the rear of the property.

I slumped in the seat, closed my eyes, and longed to be home, soaking in a hot bath with Epsom salts. Or maybe I would indulge and use a capful of my special eucalyptus bubble bath. I remembered the promising spring day it was given to me with a note saying he was always thinking of me. An ache stabbed inside, and I snapped my eyes open.

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